


too many beds

by watfordbird33



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Coming Out, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28188804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watfordbird33/pseuds/watfordbird33
Summary: “Snow,” said Baz, very roughly.“Yes,” said Simon.“Are you gay?”“What does that have to do with anything?”“I mean,” said Baz. He sounded like he felt that he had the high ground again. “You’re hard and you want to touch yourself and literally the only reason you could possibly be hard right now is because of me.”
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 5
Kudos: 135





	too many beds

**Author's Note:**

> In which, after summoning a demon, Baz and Simon end up somewhere with far too many beds.
> 
> Warnings for plotlessness and sexual content, not too detailed. The too-many-beds trope is inspired by a reverse-tropes Instagram post I saw at 12 AM and forgot to save.

The demon was at their heels. Simon could feel his sweatpants tearing, raked claws missing his Achilles by a quarter inch.

“Hurry the fuck _up.”_

Simon spluttered, cried out, pushed himself harder. Ahead of them, the doors to the shelter loomed like an open mouth. A claw-tip pierced Simon’s ankle. With the last of his strength, he gathered himself and flung his exhausted body through the doorway. 

Baz was already spinning, slamming the door shut on the demon’s ugly face. There was a crunch, a howl, and quiet. Baz threw the heavy iron lock into place.

Simon slumped to his knees.

“All right, Snow?” said Baz. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

Simon couldn’t speak. He coughed, then coughed again. It felt like his insides were tearing.

“Crowley,” said Baz. “Get it together.”

“Don’t you dare lecture me,” said Simon, coughing some more. “Not after summoning _that.”_

“I thought we handled it well.”

Simon raised his head to eye Baz disbelievingly. “We ran for our lives.”

“We handled it well,” shrugged Baz. “All things considered.” He straightened, and then, infuriatingly, put his hands in his pockets. He glanced around. “This is a nice little safe spot, isn’t it?”

“You’re welcome,” said Simon. His eyes were streaming.

“We just need a light.” Baz clicked his fingers, and a tiny flame sprang up on his palm. He cupped his other hand around it and swung in a slow circle, taking in the room. Simon followed the motion.

“Plenty of beds,” said Baz, suggestively.

There were maybe fifty or sixty beds, lined up in even rows. It was faintly eerie, all those abandoned mattresses, like something out of a horror movie. Simon shivered and wrapped his sweaty arms around himself.

“I’ll take this one,” said Baz. He pointed to a bed at the end of the row. 

“I’ll take that one,” said Simon hurriedly. He gestured to indicate that he would be choosing the bed at the exact opposite end, as far away from Baz as he could get.

“How will we snuggle for warmth?” 

Simon flipped him the bird.

“In all seriousness,” said Baz. “We shouldn’t sleep so far apart. If something breaks in, I want you to die before I do.”

“Should have picked a bed closer to the opposite end, then, huh?” said Simon, as Baz laughed. He spat the last of his exhaustion onto the stone floor and headed for the end of the row. There was a stack of boxes and cabinets against the far wall; he wanted bandages and Ibuprofen for his leg. 

“What are you doing?” said Baz. He tossed his fire at the ceiling, where it hovered, an unearthly globe.

Simon reached into the top drawer of one of the cabinets and pulled out a box of condoms.

 _“Now_ we’re talking,” said Baz, suddenly sounding interested.

Simon felt the color rise to his cheeks. He stuffed the box back into the drawer and groped for something else. A six-pack of women’s underwear, rolled into tidy bundles.

“This just gets better and better,” said Baz.

Simon threw the underwear at him, missed by a mile, and finally extracted a first-aid kit. He sat back on his heels and popped open the latch.

“Don’t you know healing spells?” said Baz.

“Yes,” said Simon.

“Use one, then.”

Simon shook his head.

There was a pause. “Oh, for Crowley’s sake.” Footsteps sounded on the stone. “You can’t, can you?”

Simon concentrated on breaking the seal on a tube of antibacterial cream.

“You’re too powerful. You’d blow the roof off.” Baz was right over Simon’s shoulder, breathing down at him. He crouched down and took the first-aid kit out of Simon’s hands. “Easy,” he said, when Simon turned on him. “Where are you hurt?”

Simon clenched his jaw.

“Don’t be an idiot,” said Baz.

“I’m fine,” said Simon.

Baz’s gaze wandered. “Ankle? You should have run faster.”

Simon grimaced at him. Then Baz’s cool hand was on his ankle, smooth and gray. He muttered a spell and grazed Simon’s calf with the tip of his wand.

A tingling warmth spread through Simon’s body—forehead, collarbone, groin. The scratch on his ankle closed up.

Baz jerked his hand away from Simon’s leg. “Is there food in here?” he said, too fast. He bent over the cabinet and yanked on the bottom drawer. It was filled with bags of trail mix. Simon stared at the bags and tried to figure out why he was hard.

“You alive there, Snow?”

“Um,” said Simon. Maybe it was the adrenaline? Like some sort of strange, brink-of-death sexual rush? He closed his eyes and tried to focus. This was a wildly inconvenient occurrence. He was wearing clingy sweatpants, and there were beds everywhere, and he was in an abandoned shelter with Baz Pitch. 

And he was hard. As a rock. 

“I don’t know what sort of crisis you think you’re having—”

_Aha._

It had been the healing spell.

Simon jabbed a finger at Baz and accidentally dead-legged him in the thigh. Baz buckled, caught himself with flat palms. They were on the floor, face to face. 

“What kind of spell was that?” growled Simon.

“Are you insane?”

“What kind of spell?”

Baz sneered. “It was **Get well soon,** Snow; do you want an essay on it?”

“What did you add to it?”

“I didn’t add anything to it.”

“Liar.”

Baz’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not lying.”

“It made me—”

“What?”

“It made me—”

Baz’s gaze fell to Simon’s crotch.

“Oh, no,” he said, putting up his hands. “No, no, no. That is _all_ you. Don’t try to pin your inappropriate horniness on me.”

“The spell—”

“It was **Get well soon.”** Baz scrambled to his feet. “It was **Get well soon,** and you know it.” He was talking very fast. “Got any feelings you need to confess? It’s a shame there are fifty beds; if there were just one, we’d be getting it on.”

“Shut your mouth,” said Simon. He pulled his shirt down over the bulge in his sweatpants.

“Hey, I didn’t make this trope up. If there were only one bed, we’d have to sleep in it.”

“If there were only one bed, I’d sleep on the floor.”

“Then luckily it’s not an issue,” said Baz, “right?” 

He scooped up a few packages of trail mix, then turned and headed back down the row toward his bed. Simon watched him, trying to will his erection down. There was something funny about the way Baz was moving. An edge to his gait.

The words were out before Simon could stop them. “Don’t try to pretend like you’re not hard, too.” 

Baz froze.

“It’s adrenaline,” said Simon.

“You know, Snow,” said Baz. “You’ve said a lot of stupid things. But that might be the stupidest.”

“Death-defying experiences turn us on,” said Simon. He felt himself grinning, relieved he’d solved the mystery. “It’s probably not anything to be ashamed of. It probably happens to lots of people. That’s what we should take away from this.”

“Really? What I’m taking away from this is that you’re batshit crazy.”

Baz opened the trail mix and started eating it, rapidly, cracking the nuts between his teeth. Simon kept watching him. At length, Baz got to the end of the row, tossed the bag of trail mix aside, and dumped the other bags on the bed next to the one he had chosen. When he sat down, the shape in his pants was obvious.

“There’s no shower,” said Simon. He swallowed.

Baz gave him a look. “I’m aware.”

“So we can’t deal with—it like—like that.”

“If you don’t stop talking right now, I’ll burn this place to the ground.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well, stop saying it.”

“Look, the beds we chose are far apart.”

“That’s for a reason, Snow.”

“If you cast a muffling spell, we could—”

Baz threw himself back onto the mattress. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said, “that you’re unable to wait your hard-ons out.”

Simon frowned. “Why wait it out if I don’t have to?”

“Because you _have to,_ Snow. Because what you’re suggesting is even stupider than the thing I said was the stupidest thing you’d ever said.”

Simon got up from the floor, deposited the trail mix on the bed a few spaces down, and sat down on the bed he’d selected. “I won’t do it if you don’t want me to,” he said.

“Good,” said Baz.

Simon waited. Then he said, “But I’m really hard.”

Baz made a sharp, frustrated noise. He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes. “Simon,” he said, like he wanted to take Simon’s head off.

“You called me Simon,” said Simon, surprised.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

Baz sat up, shook his head. “Why don’t you pull this crap in the room?”

“I just take care of it in the shower.”

Baz swore.

Simon felt himself get harder. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” said Baz. “You can do whatever the fuck you want, can’t you? And I can’t stop you.”

“I said I wouldn’t do it. If you don’t want me to.”

“I know.”

Simon’s lips were very dry. He wet them, clenched his fists in his lap, and tried to think about deflating balloons. “It’s kind of odd that this has never happened to me before,” he said. “I mean, I’ve almost died loads of times.”

Silence from Baz.

“Just odd,” said Simon. He got up, pulled back the covers, took off his shoes, and got into bed. Ten beds away, he could hear Baz’s labored breathing. “Anyway,” he said, fighting to make his voice light. “Sorry to make you uncomfortable. I’m going to bed.”

“It’s five in the afternoon.”

“Really?”

“No,” admitted Baz. “I have no idea what time it is.”

“There doesn’t seem to be anything to do besides sleep,” said Simon.

Baz’s voice was weird. “You were full of ideas a few seconds ago.”

“Well, you said no.”

“I did.”

Simon waited.

“Did I?” mused Baz. His voice was even weirder now.

“Hey, I’m trying to sleep,” said Simon.

“Right.”

There was a very long pause, then an abrupt rustling of sheets. The twin thuds of Baz’s tennis shoes falling to the floor. The fire at the peak of the ceiling went out with a hiss, and Simon closed his eyes.

The pause went on and on.

“Snow,” said Baz, very roughly.

“Yes,” said Simon.

“Are you gay?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I mean,” said Baz. He sounded like he felt that he had the high ground again. “You’re hard and you want to touch yourself and literally the only reason you could possibly be hard right now is because of me.”

“That is _not_ true,” said Simon.

“Hmm,” said Baz, with an irritating smug curve to his tone.

“I could be thinking about Agatha.”

“You broke up with Agatha.”

“But I _could.”_

“You’d know if you were thinking about Agatha. You have no idea what you’re thinking about. You thought I’d cast some sort of dick-hardening spell on you.”

“I’m still not convinced you didn’t.”

“You’re gay,” said Baz.

“I’m not gay.”

“Bi?”

“I’m not bi.”

“I think you’re thinking about me,” said Baz, gleefully.

 _“No,”_ said Simon, except now he was. He was thinking about Baz shirtless in the tower room, the drops of water gleaming on his chest. And he was also thinking about Baz’s hands cupping his thighs. That was a visual that did not belong here or anywhere. “Fuck,” said Simon, scrubbing angrily at his face.

“You _are,”_ said Baz.

Simon tried to catch his breath. 

“There’s nothing wrong with being gay,” said Baz. “Or bi.”

“You’re hard, too,” shot back Simon.

“Yes, Snow,” said Baz, patiently. “That’s because I’m gay.”

Stunned, Simon levered himself upright on the bed.

“Close your mouth,” said Baz, even though there was no way he could see Simon in the total dark. “You’ll catch flies.”

Simon had to confirm. “You’re gay?”

“Yes,” said Baz.

“Um,” said Simon.

“You’re welcome to leave,” said Baz. “I’d remind you that there’s a demon just outside, but ultimately, the decision’s yours.”

Simon flung himself back down and buried his face in the pillow. The mattress rubbed against his crotch, and he stifled a groan.

“I guess your proposal’s sounding a little less harmless now,” said Baz. He sounded smug, but there was something else in his voice, too. “And a little more gay.”

“I didn’t know you were gay,” said Simon.

“Now you know.”

There was another excruciating pause. Simon pounded his fist on the mattress, silently.

“Maybe you’re just messing with me,” he said after a while.

“Yes, that’s likely.”

“Like you’re trying to get me to admit I’m gay, too, because this is a safe space. But I’m not going to. Because I’m not gay.”

“You’re _something,”_ said Baz. “I’m not going to label you. But if you’re hard because you’re thinking about me, and you’re suggesting that we jerk off within ten beds of each other, I’m pretty sure you’re something.”

Simon took a deep breath, then another.

“Goodnight, Snow,” said Baz. There was still that note in his voice. Like a tiny cry for attention.

“Wait,” said Simon.

Baz waited.

“Are you thinking about me?” said Simon softly.

Baz didn’t say anything.

Simon cleared his throat. His hand kept trying to move of its own accord to the tie of his sweatpants and he kept holding it back. 

“Yes,” said Baz. “I’m thinking about you.”

He didn’t sound like he was joking. There wasn’t that upward swing to each syllable, like, _fuck you, Snow._ He sounded grave and hoarse and sincere.

Simon squirmed.

“What about me?” he whispered.

“Snow…”

“What?”

“I’m not going to tell you unless you actually want to know.”

Simon squirmed some more.

“I need explicit consent,” said Baz.

“That sounds like we’re having sex,” said Simon, shocked out of his squirming.

“There are plenty of things other than sex that require consent,” said Baz. He sounded a little choked. “Most people are sloppy about that. I’m not.” 

“Okay,” said Simon, impressed. He sat up and threw off all the covers. He was sweating horribly. “I want to know.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” The truth felt very naked, so Simon added a lie. “For reconnaissance.”

“That’s not a good enough reason.”

A beat. This time, Simon’s hand made it almost all the way to his waistband before he found the strength to knot it into the sheet.

“Yeah, it was a lie,” he said. “I just want to know.”

“That’s better,” said Baz. Sheets shifted. He spoke matter-of-factly. “I’m thinking about you lying there and touching yourself. And I’m thinking about coming over there and touching you myself.”

Simon started to cough.

“Don’t die,” said Baz. Then his tone became contemplative. “On the other hand, I suppose in that case this godforsaken night would die with you, and that wouldn’t be a terrible thing.”

“Baz,” said Simon, when he had recovered himself. “So. Um. I don’t know if I’m gay.”

“I’m not your therapist,” said Baz coolly.

“But that just made me even harder.”

Baz made a choked noise.

“So unless it’s the adrenaline,” said Simon, “maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m _something.”_

There was a small silence.

“I need explicit consent,” said Simon.

“Yes, Simon,” said Baz instantly. “I don’t have a problem with you touching yourself.”

“That didn’t sound enthusiastic,” said Simon.

“If I try to sound enthusiastic I’ll sound insincere,” said Baz, “and I’m not. But if you really need it—you have my explicit, enthusiastic consent to touch yourself.”

“You know,” said Simon, as he let his hand find the ties they had been trying to untie for the past ten minutes, “if the demon breaks down the door, you’ll die first.”

“Maybe I’d better come closer,” said Baz. Almost in a whisper.

“Maybe.”

“That being said,” said Baz. His voice changed. Simon closed his eyes and stroked himself once, gently. “There are a lot of beds.”

“There are.”

“It would be a shame to ignore all these beds.”

“Mmm,” said Simon. He stroked himself again.

“I’ll move beds,” said Baz. And Simon suddenly realized that Baz was touching himself, too; that was the source of the strangled note in his voice. “Closer. Each time. I hear you.”

“Ahhh,” said Simon.

“That counted,” said Baz. And he got up. Simon rolled over, squinted toward him in the dark, but there was nothing except a rustle of sheets as he sank into the next bed. 

“I’m glad the demon didn’t kill me,” said Simon, honestly.

“Me, too,” said Baz.

“That would have sucked,” said Simon. “That would have prevented this.” He couldn’t keep himself from breathing out hard as he trailed his fingers down.

“I heard you,” said Baz, like he had won something.

“Do I get to move each time I hear you?”

“You won’t,” said Baz.

“Want to bet?”

Baz got up and moved to the next bed. “Yes,” he said.

“Okay,” said Simon, and gasped again, just to keep Baz on his toes. There were only seven beds between them. “What do you want to bet?”

“Your gay virginity,” said Baz. The sneer was back in his voice.

“Hey,” said Simon, removing his hand. He was suddenly anxious. “I’m not going to have sex tonight.”

“Oh, great snakes,” said Baz—the sneer gone—“I know. I don’t want to. Please don’t think I’d—no. No.” There was a pause. “Besides, I’m pretty sure we couldn’t if we tried.”

Simon was a little offended in spite of himself.

“There are too many beds,” said Baz. “It’s just not possible. We could only have sex if there were one.”

Simon replaced his hand.

“I heard you,” said Baz softly.

“Then come here,” said Simon.

Baz came a bed closer. His breathing picked up. Something like a moan escaped him.

“I heard you,” said Simon, triumphantly.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did.” Simon struggled out of bed and moved into the next one. There were five left between them. He began to pant, not even trying to hide it.

“Shameless,” said Baz. Four.

“I’m not—shameless.”

“You’re pretty damn shameless.” Three.

“And what was that?”

“I’ll give you that one,” said Baz, with a certain amount of enjoyment in his voice. 

Two. Simon cupped himself, tugged. Baz hadn’t even settled in before he had to climb into the next bed. There was one mattress left between them. 

“What happens when—”

“I don’t know,” said Simon.

“That’s all right,” said Baz. His breath crashed out. Simon’s hands were shaking. He let go of himself, stood, and sat on the side of the next bed. He thought he could almost see Baz—like echolocation, drawing light around constructed sounds. 

“Can I lie down?” said Simon.

“Be my guest,” said Baz.

Then Simon was horizontal, and Baz was in the next bed over, and it was all suddenly incredibly real. They were touching themselves in unison; Simon could hear it in the rhythm of their breaths. Baz had seemingly stopped trying to restrain the noises that fell from his lips.

“I’m confused,” said Simon, between shallow thrusts, “whether betting on my gay virginity means that I now have to lose it or that it’s now safe.”

“Let’s go with the first one,” said Baz. And then he sucked in a breath, hard. Very quietly, he said, “I’m going to come.”

“Okay,” said Simon, wonderingly. All of a sudden he was at the edge of the cliff himself. “Ahhh,” he said. “Me too.”

Baz came, then Simon. They lay breathing hard. Simon could feel the sweat trickling down his shoulders and pooling between his collarbones.

“That was hard work,” said Baz, after a moment. There was a smile in his voice that Simon had never heard before, and it made Simon feel giddy. “Too many beds.”

“Too many beds,” agreed Simon.

Baz shifted. “You remember when I told you what you said was stupid?”

“Not really,” said Simon truthfully. “You say that a lot.”

“Yeah,” said Baz. His breath hitched. “So. I’m sorry about that. I don’t think anything you say is stupid. I think it’s brilliant. I like it.”

Simon fought the warmth in his stomach. “I thought you hated me,” he said.

“Well,” said Baz, “I do. A little. That’s what enemies-to-lovers is all about.”

“And then it seemed like you just liked me for my body.”

Simon turned on his side just in time to see Baz make a shrugging motion. “Well,” he said, “I do. A little.”

“But what you said just then—”

“Careful, Simon,” said Baz. “You’ll blow my cover.”

“You called me Simon,” said Simon.

“We did just jerk off together.”

“In separate beds, though,” said Simon. He didn’t even know what he was saying anymore. “I feel like that’s important.”

“You’re right,” said Baz. “That’s the absolutely critical piece of all this.”

He stood up. Now Simon could see him, vaguely luminescent. His pants and underwear were down around his knees, and Simon stared.

“Can I lie down next to you?” said Baz, pulling up his pants with a sharp motion.

Simon pulled up his own pants, and shifted aside, and Baz lay down next to him. They didn’t touch. Then suddenly it was like Simon physically couldn’t take it anymore. He groped for Baz’s hand.

Baz’s fingers were slender and slightly damp. There were calluses on his palm, probably from the fire, and a track of hair that ran up over his knobby wrist bone.

“This is very tender of you,” said Baz, less sneerily than Simon expected. “Very there-was-only-one-bed.”

“It’s very dark,” said Simon. 

Baz nodded. “I appreciate the way you speak what’s on everyone’s mind.”

“No, I mean—” Simon squeezed Baz’s hand. “We could have missed the other beds, right? Because it’s so dark.”

“An easy mistake to make,” said Baz. He squeezed Simon’s hand back.

Simon yawned. “There’s a demon outside,” he said.

“Yes,” said Baz.

“And you’re still closest to the door.”

“Yes,” said Baz.

“So if it gets in, you’ll die first.”

“Yes,” said Baz.

“That’s very noble of you,” said Simon. With his non-sticky hand, he reached out and pushed Baz’s hair away from his face. “I appreciate your sacrifice.”

“I appreciate everything about you,” said Baz. He shuddered. “Crowley. That was embarrassing. Don’t make me say that again.”

“I didn’t make you say anything.”

“Yes, you did. Your hand did. And your stupid pretty moles did. And your blue eyes. And all the power in you. You can’t even cast a healing spell.”

“You’re glad I couldn’t,” said Simon, sleepily. “None of this would have happened.”

“I wish it hadn’t,” said Baz, with unconvincing force.

“Liar.”

Baz sighed. He rolled over and kissed Simon, right on the lips. “Yes,” he said, when he had pulled away. Simon blinked at him, transformed. “I’m lying. I’m a filthy, filthy liar.”


End file.
